


Having Confidence in a Fine September Sun

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Dancing, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 02:38:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4770401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Once, having confidence in a fine September sun, Marius had allowed himself to be taken to the ball at Sceaux by Courfeyrac, Bossuet, and Grantaire..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Having Confidence in a Fine September Sun

**Author's Note:**

> For Courfeyrac/Marius week.
> 
> Based on the following passage from the Brick: 
> 
> “Once, having confidence in a fine September sun, Marius had allowed himself to be taken to the ball at Sceaux by Courfeyrac, Bossuet, and Grantaire, hoping, what a dream! that he might, perhaps, find her there. Of course he did not see the one he sought.—"But this is the place, all the same, where all lost women are found,“ grumbled Grantaire in an aside. Marius left his friends at the ball and returned home on foot, alone, through the night, weary, feverish, with sad and troubled eyes, stunned by the noise and dust of the merry wagons filled with singing creatures on their way home from the feast, which passed close to him, as he, in his discouragement, breathed in the acrid scent of the walnut-trees, along the road, in order to refresh his head.”
> 
> Usual disclaimer applies. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

“This was an ill-fated idea,” Marius muttered, tugging on the cuffs of the shirt he had borrowed from Courfeyrac, who had deemed his wardrobe inadequate for the evening.

Bossuet adjusted the hat perched on his bald head and gave Marius a beatific smile. “Speak not of ill fate, my friend, lest ill fate befalls more than myself in our merry band.” He laughed loudly and took Grantaire’s arm, ignoring the scowl Grantaire gave him. “Come now, Marius, give us a smile. It’s a delightful September eve, and there is much merriment to be had.”

Despite Bossuet’s cheer, Marius merely shrugged, gazing anxiously around, and he only glanced back when Courfeyrac touched his arm gently. “Your lady love is unlikely to appear based solely on how hard you stare,” he told him in an undertone. “Let us eat and drink and take scandalous advantage of the bourgeois, and perhaps merriment will penetrate even Marius’s sour mood.”

“It’s not a sour mood,” Marius protested, following Courfeyrac, Grantaire and Bossuet as they led the way into the ball, which was being held in Sceaux, south of the city, at a fine chateau. Why Marius thought his love, the one whom he had sought with every fiber of his being, might be at such a garish place was beyond him — though indeed, it was he who had come up with the idea, drunk as much on the idea of love as the late summer sun and the wine he and Courfeyrac had shared one night. Courfeyrac had been more than willing to accompany him, and Grantaire and Bossuet, seemingly always ready for an evening of fun, volunteered to join as well, which led them here, the last vestiges of a fine September sun disappearing behind the trees outside the chateau.

All four stepped inside the door and paused as one, looking around at the opulence that surrounded them, and Grantaire sucked in a deep breath before saying in an odd voice, “Imagine if Enjolras could see us now.”

The mental image alone was enough to spur them indoors, all laughing — even Marius, who seemed able, at least for the moment, to take his mind off the one thing that he was missing in the moment. It helped that even by Grantaire’s standard, there were drinks aplenty to be had, and even the most dour of thoughts were chased away by the bubbles of champagne.

For his part, Marius was content to hang back and watch his friends as they flirted outrageously with anyone who stood still long enough to allow it. It took less than ten minutes for Grantaire to have a glass of champagne unceremoniously dumped on his head, which caused the libertine to cry foul. “This is a decent vintage, and it deserves a better fate!” he yelped, trying in vain to lick what he could from around his lips.

Bossuet fared no better, making pleasant talk among several ladies, but as soon as he removed his hat, they seemed to remember they had elsewhere to be, leaving in a flock. Bossuet sighed and jammed his hat back on his head. “Were Jehan here, he would remind me of some far-off culture where baldness is a sign of luck,” he said, still cheerful despite his misfortune.

And Courfeyrac — well, Courfeyrac seemed made for a crowd such as this, the missing “de” in front of his surname apparent even without speaking as he spun well-dressed ladies around the dance floor. Marius sighed as he watched, wishing for half a second that he could be even half as happy as Courfeyrac seemed with any lady.

But there was only one whom Marius desired, and despite his best hopes, the beautiful woman he sought was not among the throngs of the ball, and despite the best efforts of the champagne, his mood could not stay lifted for long, and he fell into melancholy as he stared broodingly at Courfeyrac dancing with what must have been his twentieth partner of the evening.

When the song ended, Courfeyrac returned to Marius’s side, his eyes sparkling. “Ah, mon ami, I sense your ill mood returning, which means there is but one thing to be done,” he declared. “A distraction is necessary, a distraction in the form of a dance.”

Marius shook his head. “I do not think I could find it in me to dance now,” he muttered in a low voice. “There is no lady here that would inspire my feet to move.”

“Who said anything about a lady?” Courfeyrac asked, raising one eyebrow pointedly at Marius before bowing lowly and offering Marius his hand. “Might I have this dance, fine sir?”

For a moment, Marius just stared at him, then his cheeks colored and he shook his head, recoiling from Courfeyrac. “You mock me,” he said, his voice small.

Courfeyrac’s brow furrowed. “What?” he asked. “Of course not! Mon ami—”

But Marius was already gone, having spun on heel to practically flee from the ball. Bossuet, who had finally convinced a young woman to dance with him, abruptly left her side to join Courfeyrac, staring after Marius. “Whatever happened with young Pontmercy?” he asked.

“He did not find the one he sought,” Courfeyrac said dully, his voice quiet.

Grantaire joined them as well, draining a glass of champagne. “But this is the place, all the same, where all lost women are found,” he pointed out, though there was something sad in his voice all the same as the three watched Marius disappear out the door of the chateau and into the night.

* * *

 

Marius shivered, tugging Courfeyrac’s jacket tighter around him as he determinedly strode down the darkened lane, ignoring the carriages that swerved past him, laden with laughing and cheerful ball attendees returning to their homes in Paris.

Part of him was beginning to regret this choice, and not just because the jacket Courfeyrac had insisted he wear was far more decorative than it was warm. It was not a short walk from Sceaux to Paris, and indeed, he felt a bit foolish for leaving as he had. Courfeyrac had meant no harm, he was sure, and if he turned back now, he might still be able to make amends, not only with Courfeyrac, but with the evening as a whole.

But the larger part of him, or at least, the part still determined to continue down the road when it possibly would have been a better idea to turn back, knew that he needed this moment, needed to drink in the scents of encroaching autumn and the oft-marred silence of what should have been a peaceful night.

It was lonely, certainly, but loneliness was something Marius had convinced himself he must be accompanied to, seeing as how he found himself so frequently in loneliness’s company. And as so often found in loneliness’s wake, the acrid scent of the trees and the bitter chill that settled into his bones seemed to be the best companions he could find at the moment.

At least, so he thought, until the night was broken by more than just the titters of society’s elite and instead by a hail from a familiar voice that warmed Marius from the inside. “What ho!” Courfeyrac called, leaning out of the carriage they had all taken to the ball as it drew up next to Marius. “Wait a moment,” he instructed the driver before hopping out and fixing Marius with his most patient look. “Pardon me, monsieur, but you appear to be in need of a ride.”

Marius glanced at him before looking down, trying not to smile and to keep he felt in his heart affixed on his face. “How did you catch up with me?” he grumbled.

“Shockingly, my dear, a carriage is faster yet than foot,” Courfeyrac said magnanimously, smiling at Marius, who felt the corners of his mouth twitch despite himself. “And all I needed do was follow your poor soul’s angst.”

Now Marius did scowl, though it was short-lived. “What will Bossuet and Grantaire do alone at the ball?”

Courfeyrac waved a dismissive hand. “I hate to inform you, but they’ll fare better in our absence than our presence. Bossuet will find a lady to take pity on his bald head, and Grantaire—” For a moment, he hesitated, then shook his head. “Well, he’ll end up in a blond’s bed one way or another.”

Marius laughed at that, looking down at the ground instead of meeting Courfeyrac’s eyes, as he could feel the inquisitive gaze resting upon him. “If you’ll permit me,” Courfeyrac started, “why did you run from the ball?”

Shrugging, Marius sighed, “Because my beloved was not there. What more reason could I possibly need? The entire purpose of this eve was to further my search for her, and alas, my search seems just as fruitless now as it was earlier this day.”

For a moment, Courfeyrac was silent, and Marius chanced a glance up at him, surprised by the contemplative expression of Courfeyrac’s normally jolly face. Then, after a long moment, Courfeyrac sighed and shook his head slowly. “But surely,” he said slowly, “surely you cannot allow that to stop all your fun. Even if no other woman in this world holds any meaning next to your beloved, you still have your friends, haven’t you?”

Marius snorted and shook his head, scoffing, “That’s not the same.”

Courfeyrac paused, a strange expression on his face. “Isn’t it?” he asked quietly.

Then, suddenly, he put his hand on Marius’s shoulder before grabbing Marius’s hand with his free one. “What are you doing?” Marius asked, more confused than anything.

“Well, as far as I am concerned, I asked for a dance earlier this eve, and I am not a man used to being denied that which I ask,” Courfeyrac said primly. Marius rolled his eyes and started to pull away, but Courfeyrac stopped him, telling him quietly, “Please, mon ami. One dance, you and I, under this beautiful September moon.”

After a moment, Marius nodded slowly, and placed his hand high on Courfeyrac’s back. “A little lower,” Courfeyrac told him, his voice low, and Marius swallowed almost nervously as he lowered his hand to rest on Marius’s waist. “There,” Courfeyrac said, a note of triumph in his voice, and Marius found it hard to breathe, realizing suddenly how close Courfeyrac was to him. “And now, we dance.”

And dance they did, moving in slow time to a song heard by none but them, swaying in the shadows of the walnut trees under the dappled light of a late September moon. Courfeyrac drew Marius closer, and closed his eyes as he leaned his head against Marius, who swallowed hard again before resting his cheek against Courfeyrac’s head.

Slowly, they drew to a stop, and Courfeyrac leaned in to kiss Marius’s forehead, squeezing his hand as he told him softly, “It is perhaps not the same, but there is still joy to be found in this world even without your lady. So long as you look for it.”

Marius squeezed his hand back. “Perhaps not the same,” he admitted, his heart beating loudly in his ears, so loudly that he was sure Courfeyrac must hear it. “But worthwhile nonetheless.”

Courfeyrac laughed and pulled away, offering Marius his arm. “If you’ll allow, monsieur, let me escort you home.”

Laughing as well, Marius took Courfeyrac arm and let him pull them both toward the carriage, helping him into it before following him. And together they sat in the carriage as it made its way down the tree-lined lane back to the home that they shared.


End file.
